They Never Mentioned a Sister
by Reign of Rayne
Summary: After the events of season nine, a confused and lost Dean has vanished from the Men of Letters' bunker and is wreaking havoc on the world with his new demonic powers. Sam and Crowley, once more forced to work together to bring Dean back home, are desperate. Crowley comes to a new solution: go to an alternate universe and pull out the Winchester's sister.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay so first things first updates will be slow and far between. I don't want to make you guys expect quick updates when I'm distracted by the five other things that I'm writing on the side and on this website. Secondly, this takes place after season 9 (which I recently watched). Any confusion will hopefully be cleared up as the story progresses, and I'm kind of messing around with the Supernatural multiverse in this fic. If you don't like it, don't read it.**

Chapter 1

The lines on the paper were sharp and defined. Black blots of ink leaked out as if the paper was bleeding, dripping down the page in chaotic patterns. An image was slowly taking form with each scratch of the pen, becoming clearer and clearer, on the verge of being identifiable. The pen kept going, moving more and more quickly until-

_Snap_.

"Dammit," I whispered, dropping the broken pen. Ink flowed out of the shattered tool, coating my fingers. Most of it dribbled over the page, obscuring the image I had been working so hard to create.

With a sigh, I picked up the pieces of pen and threw them into the small trash can by my desk, where the pieces clattered against the pieces of all the other broken pens the trash can contained.

Standing, I carefully avoided brushing my fingers against anything near me. My movements were practiced and precise as I stepped into the bathroom that was connected to my room. Using my elbow, I flipped on the faucet, letting water splash into the small sink. After wiping most of the ink off on a convenient paper towel, I shoved my fingers under the cool water. The liquid ran black for a few brief moments until all of it was sucked down the drain, disappearing from view.

I dried my fingers on another paper towel and then tossed both of the used ones into a trash can half-hidden under the counter.

It was filled with ink-stained paper towels.

My fingers were stained darker than the rest of my hand from all of the ink that had been spilled in them and I spent a pointless few moments trying to wipe the darkness off on my black cargo shorts. Of course, that did nothing.

After glaring at my reflection for a few moments, accusing myself of wasting my own time doing these stupid drawings all the time, I strode back into my room, turning on one of the two lamps I had to illuminate the room at least a little bit. Because of the storm outside, very little light drifted in through the tiny window over my desk. Faintly, I could hear heavy rain pounding against the walls, but the house I was in protected me.

The drawing on my desk was clearly visible and resembled an ugly scar, not looking any prettier the closer I came.

Coldly and impersonally, I balled up the paper, not caring that I was getting even more ink on my hands, making the steps I had taken to clean them earlier meaningless. The crumpled paper bounced into the pen-filled trash can. I stared at it for a minute or two, my heart beating slowly in my chest.

As I always found myself doing, I reached into the trash can and pulled out the paper, stretching it back out. Then, reluctantly, I walked over to the adjacent wall and tacked up the paper on the board that covered half of that wall, above my bed.

The newest page covered other drawings already attached to the board. Every single page was covered with smears if ink born from countless broken pens.

The lamp in my room suddenly flickered, momentarily plunging the room into darkness.

"I just replaced the bulb," I groaned to myself. "Don't tell me I have to do it again."

As if the lamp feared that fate, it stopped flickering. I eyed it for a moment, but nothing else happened.

When I went into the bathroom this time I scrubbed my hands raw, feeling as though the ink was slowly sinking into me, scorching my soul.

Abruptly, I shut off the water and covered my shaking hands in a soft towel. I found myself sinking to the floor, my legs shaking as badly as my hands were.

_This has never happened before, _I thought frantically, but a strong sense of foreboding was smothering me, forcing my mouth shut and freezing me in place. Despite my panic, I somehow managed to shove my foot into the bathroom door hard enough to close it.

Suddenly, the light in the bathroom died and my panic skyrocketed. As if to add to the adrenaline rush I was experiencing, my hearing picked up on a familiar sound coming from my room: a footstep.

My heart was beating a mile a minute and a hand of panic was quickly closing around my throat, making it impossible for me to call for help. Its grip tightened further when a rough - but calm and controlled - voice came from my bedroom.

"What nice drawings."

I could barely breathe, knowing that only a thin layer of cheap wood separated me from the intruder. Dimly, I was aware of the man walking closer to the board above my bed. There was a rustle of paper, then the sound of a page being torn off.

My heart was going to burst at this rate and I could feel myself beginning to hyperventilate.

_Who is he what is he doing here how did he get in who is he what is he doing here how did he get in?_

It took a massive effort for me to slow down my thoughts and try to focus. The dark wasn't helping me at all, and since the lights in my room had gone out as well there was no way for me to see this guy's shadow. On top of that, he'd stopped moving around so I could no longer hear his footsteps.

_Okay. Obviously the storm caused some kind of power outage. This guy must've snuck in through the front door of my house, since I've been in my room for hours. My mom isn't home, and I left my cell phone on my desk._

Thinking the situation through logically helped me to calm down slightly.

_Is there anything in the bathroom I can use against this guy?_

I ran through a mental checklist of things I kept in my bathroom and came up with nothing but the gloves my mom had given me for my nineteenth birthday a few months ago.

_Why did I have to delay going to college? I could've been long gone from here- _I snapped myself out of the remorseful thinking. It wasn't going to get me anywhere.

Focusing on a purpose, I silently pulled myself to my feet and crept towards the small cabinet in my bathroom. Luckily, it didn't creak, and when I pulled it open my mom's gloves were sitting on the top.

They resembled fingerless biker's gloves, made out of a thick black material that my mom told me was leather, though I had my doubts. On the inside, however, they were incredibly soft and warm, minus the rectangular hole in the back of both gloves. Carefully, I pulled them both on and felt a surge of confidence.

_Mom always told me to wear these when I went out_, I recalled. Vaguely, I felt somewhat guilty for cramming them into my bathroom cabinet because I didn't want her to realize that I wasn't wearing them.

I flexed my fingers, alternatively balling my hands into fists and then stretching them out. Then I cracked my knuckles quietly, mentally preparing myself.

_I've taken over a decade of martial arts and self-defense classes with a variety of weapons, and most of my teachers in high school said that the only thing I was sure to make was the military. I can do this; this guy is going to regret invading my house._

A small smile twisted my lips.

_I wonder if my dad would be proud of me. Mom always says that he would be._

Suddenly, there was a light knock at the door, startling me out of my reverie.

"I know you're in there," the intruder said. "I'm not here to hurt you, Drew."

_How does he know my name?_

I decided not to reply and instead took a step away from the door, dropping into a defensive stance.

_Either way, I won't let him take me away._

There was another rustling noise and then something very familiar slid under the door. It was a piece of paper, covered in a spill of ink that had obliterated whatever image was under it. I'd made it just a few minutes earlier.

_So that's what he tore off the board earlier._

Angrily, I used my foot to slide the image back under to door, crumpling it in the process. There was a small sigh from the other side of the door.

"You just coming out here would make this a lot easier," the intruder called.

"Go to hell!" I growled back, breaking my silence.

"I would love to," the intruder replied coldly, "but I've already done that and _you_ are trying my patience. Don't make me do this the hard way."

"I'd hate to inconvenience you," I spat, sarcasm dripping from every word.

There was no reply from the other side of the door and I tensed, knowing the attack was about to come.

"Now that's just rude," the rough voice said from right behind me. My heart practically stopped in my chest but I listened to my instincts, dropping and kicking out behind me at the same time. My gloves absorbed the sting that my hands normally would've felt from that move as I hurriedly rushed out of my bathroom, slamming the door behind me and breathing slightly easier.

_I don't know how he got in there, but this time I'll definitely see him if he comes out. _Then another thought struck me. _What if he's got a friend and that's who snuck into my bathroom through the window?_

My eyes scanned my room, skipping over familiar shapes and searching for an outlier in the dark.

"Whoever you are," I seethed, "I'm going to punch your lights out."

"You have fun with that."

I had just enough time to see the dark shape of a man in front of me before something touched my forehead and I dropped like a bag of stones, my body no longer responding to the commands I was desperately sending it.

Before unconsciousness claimed me, I heard the intruder mutter something to himself.

"You Winchesters are all the same."

**Also, chapters will be short.**

**If you guys like it, please review and let me know if this is interesting! As usual, the first chapter has very little besides the last line, but I would still appreciate feedback! (Also, descriptions of Drew and everything are coming up, and, for clarification purposes, Drew is a girl).**

**Adios,**

**-RoR**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I was floating in a distorted kind of darkness, unable to move. Desperately, I tried to move my limbs but nothing happened and I found myself screaming into the uncaring blackness, trying to free myself from wherever I was.

"MOM!" I screamed, wanting to thrash and flail. "MOM!" When nothing happened panic rose up and I screamed something I hadn't in a long, long time. "DAD!"

My screaming eventually broke down into sobs when no one came to rescue me. If I was able to move, I knew I would draw myself into a ball and stay that way until the end of time. All I knew was that I'd been kidnapped, immobilized, and now they were probably going to kill me before I could even get myself into a situation where I would be able to escape.

Needles poked into my skin and mocking faces faded in and out of the dark. The silence was painfully sharp, cutting into me and making me scream again even though my throat was raw.

Distantly, a voice dripped through the black, snaking into my consciousness.

"Is she okay?"

"What's her name?"

"Drew?"

"Last name?"

"Crowley, you've got to be kidding."

"That's - this is - ridiculous!"

"You're saying you _kidnapped _her? Are you insane?"

They were all the same voice, I realized. Just twisted and distorted in various ways.

_So I was kidnapped but it doesn't seem like this guy wants to kill me. _

"Did you have to knock her out?"

"Yes. Otherwise she would've fought until I accidentally killed her."

My breath caught in my throat. That voice - it was the guy from my room!

I wanted to speak, to yell, but I still couldn't move. However, the realization that I was unconscious was sending ripples through the darkness that surrounded me.

_Maybe . . . I can wake myself up?_

Now that I knew what kind of situation I was in, I found that it was easy to get out. With one mental "push", I managed to tear myself out of the dark chamber in my mind that I had been trapped in.

My eyes shot open and I gasped involuntarily, my whole body jump starting for some reason. It took me a moment to realize that I was in a chair, and that I was handcuffed to that chair by both my wrists and one of my ankles.

I was in some kind of large library, pulled up to some kind of long table with lamps on it. The ceiling was high above me with a fancy chandelier that didn't seem to be doing much good with lighting.

Standing a few feet away was a shorter, thicker-looking man that looked like he'd forgotten to shave that morning, wearing an expensive suit.

"Crowley," he said gruffly when he saw that I was looking at him.

_He's the one who invaded my home._

Instead of letting my emotions take over, I forced myself to calm down and keep looking around. There was another voice I'd heard earlier, I remembered that much.

Across from me at the table was a really, really tall guy with light brown hair that went wavy down to his shoulders. He smiled semi-nervously at me.

"Hi," he said awkwardly. "Um, I'm Sam."

My breath caught in my throat.

_I know that hair. I know that voice. Dammit, I know that _name_!_

"Winchester?" I asked quietly, hating how weak I sounded. Sam nodded.

"Yeah. Sam Winchester. What's your name?"

I couldn't reply.

_Not possible. Not possible. Notpossiblenotpossiblenotpossible!_

"You're not Sam Winchester," I whispered, half to myself. "It's impossible."

Sam - or the imposter Sam - looked more than a little flustered and turned to the kidnapper who called himself Crowley for help. Crowley rolled his eyes, looking tired of the whole affair.

"Moose, meet Drew Winchester. Drew Winchester, meet Sam Winchester."

Sam looked unsurprised by the announcement, but he didn't seem to like it very much. I, on the other hand, was struggling with remembering how to breathe.

"How?" I eventually managed to gasp.

Crowley sighed.

"I'm only going to explain this once," he said impatiently. When he saw that both Sam and I were paying attention, he confined. "Since you, Moose, were getting so desperate, I figured the best thing to do was bring in another Winchester. You, Kitten-"

_Kitten? My name is Drew. . ._

"-are from a different, ah, _reality_ than Sam. Therefore, you two have lived completely different lives. One thing you need to remember, Kitten, is that this is not your world before you go freaking out."

"Not my world?" I repeated, struck dumb by what Crowley had said. However, given the fact that _Sam _was sitting across from me, I was willing to at least half believe the tale Crowley had just told.

_So it wasn't necessarily a kidnapping, right? I was just pulled into a different reality. _

"Wait, Crowley," Sam said, "I get that she's from a different reality, but I never had a sister."

I tried not to let the hurt I felt at those words show on my face.

"I bloody _know _that," Crowley snapped. He rubbed his forehead, as if already tired of talking to Sam. "Drew is from a _different reality_. Would you like me to say it more slowly?"

"No," Sam replied, looking offended. "But still-"

"Look," Crowley growled, "in her world, events happened much differently than the events in ours. In fact, her entire family is different. As far as I could tell, you and Dean were dead in her reality."

Sam's expression turned to one of horror so quickly it pained me.

_Even in a different world the idea of dying is incomprehensible to him. Somehow, I'm not surprised._

"Dean and I . . .?" Sam managed.

"Yes," Crowley answered with a complimentary rolling of his eyes. "Are you quite done with the dramatics yet? We do have a guest, you know."

Sam looked at me again, and I could see how painful it was for him.

_Something's happened to the Dean in this world?_

"How did we die?" Sam eventually asked, his voice strained. Crowley groaned in the background and my hands clenched into fists.

"I can't-" I started. It took me a moment to get the words straight in my head. "I can't say it."

Sam, seeing how sensitive it was for me, backed off despite the curiosity he was no doubt feeling.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, I cleared my throat.

"I don't suppose you guys can get these handcuffs off me?"

* * *

"So you've taken over a decade of fighting courses?" Sam questioned. We'd switched from chairs to a run-down set of couches, which suited me fine. My whole body felt sore anyway.

_Is it because I switched worlds?_

"Yeah," I answered, absently braiding my wavy black hair.

_Mom always said that my hair was a blessing from God since it's always smooth and silky, even when I try to mess it up._

The memory of when my mom told me those things brought a reminiscent smile to my face, but Sam assumed I was thinking about my martial arts classes.

"Are you skilled with weapons?" He continued.

"Knives," I said, thinking about it, "and I can handle a pistol, though my aim isn't the greatest."

"Jack of all trades," Crowley muttered from his position in one of the various armchairs. "How nice."

"You're the one who brought her here," Sam retorted. "Which I _still_ don't agree with, by the way."

"You've made that perfectly clear," Crowley replied icily, "but who else will Dean listen to besides you?"

"Not some sister he's never met!"

"Oh, you Winchesters are ridiculous," Crowley sighed. "It doesn't matter if you've never heard of your sister; you and Dean will go to the ends of the Earth to protect someone. It's infuriating."

Sam didn't seem to have a reply to that and instead muttered "fine".

"Wait," I said, "what happened to Dean? Why are you two chasing him? And," I added, deciding to get all of my questions out at once, "who are you, Crowley?"

"Whoa, whoa," Sam replied, "one question at a time."

"Fine," I muttered, crossing my arms. "What happened to Dean?"

Sam looked pained and Crowley looked guilty. I wondered what could get a reaction like that from two separate people.

"Well," Crowley began, "Dean has sort of become a demon."

"Not of his own free will," Sam hastily added. "It was the First Blade that did it."

"A . . . demon?" I whispered, feeling my chest clench.

_Notademonpleasenopleasenopleasenopleasenopleaseno_

"Hey, you okay?" Sam was giving me a concerned look, though he was flustered by my panicked reaction.

"Y-yeah," I stuttered, brushing off his concern while I pulled myself together.

_Demons aren't a big deal. There's no reason for me to be afraid. But still . . ._

"Oh, and he may be more powerful than the Knights of Hell," Crowley added. "We're not really sure."

Since I'd braced myself, the words "Knights of Hell" didn't trigger as much of a reaction as they usually would, but still my heart leapt into my throat.

"I guess," I eventually said, "that I don't want to know the context behind this?"

"Not really," Sam answered quickly, looking relieved that I wasn't prying.

_You respected my personal space, I'll respect yours. You're technically my brother, after all._

That thought still sent goosebumps all over my body.

"So why are you chasing Dean?" I asked next. "I mean, I understand that you want to bring him home, but why are you so desperate?"

Crowley coughed, the awkward aura he'd been projecting only growing. Sam gave him an annoyed look, and I guessed that Crowley was part of the reason behind the whole situation.

"I may have forgotten how . . . disorienting becoming a demon is," he muttered, not meeting my eyes. "Dean is a little bit confused right now."

"He's killing every monster that comes near him," Sam clarified. "There's a lot of collateral damage going on."

"Why won't he listen to you?" I asked. "You two were - are - really close, right?"

"He isn't thinking entirely straight," Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I tried to reason with him the last time I saw him and he nearly killed me."

There was so much emotion in the last few words that I could feel a physical pressure in my chest.

_Dean would never . . ._

"I hate to interrupt," Crowley interrupted, "but we're on a timetable. People are still dying, Moose. Don't you want to save your brother?"

"This is your fault too," Sam snapped. "And I recognize the situation fully, thanks!" His words cracked like miniature whips, cowing even Crowley. There was a determined, desperate fire in Sam's eyes that was quickly hidden when he turned back to me. "What was your last question?" He asked. It took me a moment to answer.

"Um, who's Crowley?"

"When I tell you," Sam said seriously, "you have to promise me that you won't do anything, okay?"

_That's not ominous at all._

"Sure."

"Crowley is the king of Hell."

I was punching Crowley before I even realized what I was doing.

**Crowley's nickname for Drew took me a little while to think up . . . since I know exactly what Drew looks like (in my head) I guess it makes sense. More of Drew's personal appearance will be coming; it just didn't fit in this chapter.**

**Wow. Two reviews already? I guess the hiatus has been pretty tough on the Supernatural fandom . . . Anyway, it would be great if more of you guys were willing and able to review, so if you can, please do!**

**-RoR**

**(Fun fact: both of the chapters for this story were uploaded during my study hall)**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Hey, hey!" Sam yanked me off Crowley and threw me onto the couch. He remained standing between us, preventing me from attacking the king of Hell again. "Calm down," Sam ordered, staring me down. I glared back, my whole body tense.

"That was rude," Crowley mused aloud, straightening his stupid gray tie.

"It'll be rude when I cut you into-"

"Shut up!" Sam roared, silencing me mid-threat. Crowley was staring at me, something unidentifiable behind his eyes.

"A kitten with claws," he muttered.

"I'm going to kill you," I growled.

"No, you're not," Sam corrected patiently. "We're all going to work together whether we like it or not."

"_My_ brother wouldn't work with a demon," I spat. Sam was visibly wounded but he didn't comment. For a moment, I felt bad, but then my gaze returned to Crowley and my guilt vanished.

"Listen," Sam said, trying and actually sort of succeeding in being gentle, "I don't know what your brother Sam was like, nor do I know about your brother Dean. Just try to understand that there are some pretty solid reasons why I'm working with Crowley. Trust me, I don't like it any more than you do."

"Standing right here," Crowley put in, but Sam ignored him.

"Can we please work together?" Sam asked quietly, his eyes burrowing into mine.

After a few moments and a hateful look at Crowley, I muttered something.

"What?" Sam hadn't heard me.

"I said," I repeated, "fine."

Sam smiled, the relief evident and the tension in the room fading somewhat, though it was still more than obvious.

"But I don't like it!" I hastily added, crossing my arms.

"I didn't expect you to," Sam replied. "Um, I guess you'll need a place to stay." He paused for a moment, thinking. "There's an empty bedroom upstairs, down two doors and to the left. You can stay there."

I coughed awkwardly and Sam glanced at me.

"I don't have any clothes or anything," I explained. "I'll kind of need those if you want me to stay for any period of time. You'll remember that I didn't really have any time to pack."

"Then why do you have gloves on?" Sam asked, his gaze drifting down to my hands that were still wearing those gloves my mom had gotten for me. Uncomfortable, I shoved my hands under my armpits.

"I just had them on, okay?" I replied defensively. "Is there a problem?"

"You had those on while you were making those drawings?" Crowley asked, interested.

"Of course not!" I snapped angrily, annoyed that I felt the need to answer his question.

"So you put them on afterwards?" Sam queried.

"Maybe," I answered. "Why do you even care?"

Sam smiled and shook his head. "No reason. You go to your room; I'm sure Crowley didn't leave all your stuff behind. _Right_, Crowley?"

It didn't take a genius to realize that the last two words were more of a threat than a reassurance.

"Right," Crowley muttered. "Your things are in your room, but I didn't organize them because last I checked I wasn't the resident maid."

"I think you'd make a very handsome maid," I teased, the words out of my mouth before I could stop them. Instead of seeing Sam and Crowley's reactions, I hurriedly got up and went up the stairs.

_Why am I always so awkward?_

I sighed while I counted the doors.

_One . . . two . . . and to the right - uh, left!_

The door in question was solid wood and shut tight.

_They must've forgotten that it's locked._

Smiling evilly to myself, I reached into one of the many pockets on my shorts and pulled out my lock picks. The tiny metal tools were comforting to my gloved hands.

_And mom always told me that I'd never need these._

Plus, I was far too proud to go back downstairs and ask Sam for a key.

_Knowing him, he probably doesn't even know where it is._

I stopped myself there.

_I don't know him. I have to remember that. This isn't _my_ Sam. _

The idea that I had even briefly considered the Sam downstairs as my real brother was disconcerting and more than a little angering to me.

_And I won't forget that he's associating with a demon. Not just a demon - the king of Hell!_

I wasn't about to let a little physical similarity make me forget about the circumstances. Before my thoughts got too dark, a faint click came from the lock. Feeling a small glow of pride - _though that wasn't my fastest pick ever_ - I pushed open the door and stepped inside, pocketing my lockpick tools as I did so.

"Wow."

The room wasn't large, about the size of the one I had been kidnapped from. It contained a simple queen-size bed, a dresser, and a closet. There was also a desk up against one wall equipped with a few pens and pencils, though it was covered in dust.

I managed to take two steps into the room before I sneezed, sending a whole cloud of dust into the air. I was convinced that it blew out into the hallway and was more than a little surprised when my red tank top didn't turn white.

My surprise grew when I saw a very familiar looking hunk of clothes and various other things on the bed. Around it, the dust had clearly been disturbed.

_He did say that he wasn't the maid. And if I don't have hangars, I'm going to be ticked._

I stalked over to the closet and yanked it open, the old sliding doors protesting slightly at the harsh movement. However, I ignored them as I pulled out a set of hangars and smiled.

"Perfect!"

After figuring out where the light switch was and hanging up all of my clothes, I figured it was time to actually get down to business.

When I went back downstairs, I saw that Sam and Crowley were no longer there.

_Where did they go? I never even heard them leave . . ._

Suddenly, I noticed a small yellow post-it on the table I'd first woken up at. On it was some messy note scrawled out in pretty bad handwriting.

_Whoever wrote it was in a hurry._

"Heard a tip from hunter; investigating Dean sighting. Back in twelve hours."

_Well, they were concise, at least._

"You could've at least told me where the cleaning supplies were," I muttered, setting the note down and looking around. "This . . . might take a while."

In the end, it took me two hours and three not-locked-anymore doors to find the cleaning supplies that had somehow ended up buried behind four devil's traps and a secret door. Either that or my accidental fall down one of the staircases caused me to hit my head a lot harder than I thought.

"This place is insane," I muttered as I cleaned up my ridiculously dusty room, "Sam is insane, Crowley is insane, I'm insane, this world's insane . . ." I went on and on, my language gradually getting worse as I got frustrated with how resistant the dust was being.

"STUPID FREAKIN' DUST!" I yelled, throwing the broom I'd been trying to use for the past ten minutes at random. Somehow, it went through the open doorway and skidded through the holes in the railing of the stairs. Faintly, I heard it clatter against the floor below.

_Crap._

For a few minutes, I simply stood completely still. I knew I had to get that broom, but I didn't really want to move.

Just as I was about to walk downstairs, I heard a door opening.

"Honey, I'm home!"

_Crowley. And he's being sarcastic too. Just how full of himself is this guy?_

"Shut up, Crowley," I heard Sam say. "You're the one who got the false tip, remember? Dean wasn't even there!"

"It was better than nothing!"

"Wait, why is there a broom on the ground?"

"No reason!" I called, sprinting down the steps. I stopped short when I saw what Sam looked like; he had various cuts on his arms, a particularly nasty scrape on one cheek, and from what I could see he had a black eye well on its way to forming.

Slowy, I finished my descent of the stairs and picked up the miraculously not-broken broom, keeping my eyes on Sam the entire time.

Crowley, for the record, looked completely fine.

"Uh . . ." I started, my gaze drawn to the bag of food that Sam held in one hand. His other hand was holding an ice pack to his shoulder. "What happened to you two?"

**Hope you guys like the chapter! Please keep reviewing; it's awesome to see that you guys are at least willing to keep following this story as I write it!**

**If you have any questions, PM me or put them in a review and I'll try to respond asap!**

**-RoR**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

"Werewolves," Sam replied shortly, dropping the bag of food on the nearby table. He didn't seem too willing to elaborate and I was less than excited about prodding. Then Sam turned back to me and frowned. "Why do you have a bruise on your forehead?"

Surprised, I reached up and gently poked an aching spot on my forehead. Sure enough, it was tender and not open to much more poking.

"I, um, fell down the stairs," I muttered sheepishly, not making eye contact. I could practically sense Crowley smirking and resisted the urge to hit him.

"That doesn't explain the broom," he said.

"I was cleaning," I retorted.

"Cleaning?" Sam repeated, frowning. "Why?"

"Maybe because you two crammed a few decades of dust into my room!" I snapped. Crowley and Sam exchanged a look that I couldn't interpret and then Sam sighed.

"You can finish cleaning your room later. Right now, we need to talk."

"Can I eat first?"

"You can eat while we talk."

"Fine."

Dropping the broom with a clatter, I walked over to the table, pulled up a chair, and sat down heavily. Seconds later, Sam slid a container of Chinese takeout in front of me. Opening it, I was confronted with a hot blast of steam. Blinking the reflexive tears out of my eyes, I realized that Sam was holding out chopsticks. After muttering "thank you", I dug in, only then noticing just how hungry I was.

Crowley was leaning against a nearby wall, paging through a newspaper that he'd gotten from somewhere.

"So what do you want to talk about?" I asked around a mouthful of food. Sam and Crowley exchanged yet another look, and then Crowley sighed and put away his newspaper.

"First off, I'm sure you're familiar with the supernatural," Crowley said, examining a microscopic piece of lint on his suit.

"Obviously," I replied, fishing around for a good piece of chicken in the rice. "And?"

"And you know that Sam's brother, Dean, has become a demon."

I momentarily paused in my hunt for the chicken piece. ". . . Yeah. Where are you going with this?"

"Well, Sammy here has been searching for the best way to get Dean back. Unfortunately, Dean isn't willing to listen to reason as of late."

"I wonder why," Sam growled under his breath.

"Get to the point already," I snapped, my limited patience with people running out.

"I'm not strong enough to take Dean on. Neither is Sam, and poor Castiel can barely keep himself alive."

I didn't recognize the name "Castiel", but I assumed that he was an ally.

"Therefore, we've had to pull out the big guns."

It was hard to miss the way Sam went tense. Whatever Crowley was talking about, it wasn't something that Sam was comfortable with.

"We needed another Winchester," Crowley finished with a sarcastic flourish, "because you lot have to be the hardest batch of humans to kill that I've ever had the displeasure of associating with."

"The feeling is mutual, Crowley," Sam muttered.

"And what am I supposed to do?" I asked, finishing my food. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not superhuman."

"Superhuman?" Crowley replied. "No, of course not. However, you do have those gloves."

"My gloves? What do those have to do with anything?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, and, without word or warning, walked over to me and grabbed my hand.

"Hey!" I protested. Sam didn't say anything, but he had a vial of holy water in one hand that I knew hadn't been there before.

Suddenly, I realized that I could smell something burning. Crowley drew his hand away, and I saw burn marks on his palm and fingers. Glancing down, I saw that the glove Crowley had grabbed was glowing. No, not glowing. There were tiny words on it, written in some kind of silver, too small to read.

"What?" I whispered, eyes wide. "What is this?"

Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Runes," he said carefully. "I've never seen any like that before. Crowley, you never told me about this-"

"So what?" Crowley snapped, annoyed. "I'm not some dog on a leash."

"You seem a bit too vicious for that," I muttered, too quietly for Crowley to hear.

"Either way," Crowley continued, "those runes 'repel darkness'. They were passed down your mother's side of the family for generations, and they are extremely versatile."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"As you can see, they can burn me, similarly to Holy Water. By the way, Moose, you can put that away. From what I have found out from my sources, they can be utilized in other ways through practice."

"Like what?" I asked, leaning forward. Despite myself, my curiosity had been piqued. Once that happened, it was way too late for me to back out.

"How the hell would I know?" Crowley answered. "It's a jealously guarded secrets."

"You're a fan of secrets," I pointed out. He shrugged innocently, something I didn't think a demon could pull off.

"There's some I can't crack. Either way, you and Sammy should train to figure out what else you can do." Before Sam or I could protest, Crowley glanced at a nearby clock. "Oh dear, I have an appointment." He glanced at Sam. "You might want to hurry. At this point, your brother is going to be consumed by the darkness inside him."

With that ominous prediction, Crowley vanished without a trace.

"Well . . . " I started, not really sure what to say. Sam just sighed, setting his food to the side.

"Just ignore him. He's eccentric, but he gets results."

Not exactly the most shining of praise.

"So, about this training," I muttered. "I'm not really sure what he means. I mean, I had no idea that these gloves were even anything special. My mom just gave them to me as a present and told me to wear them whenever I went out."

I didn't miss the pained look that crossed Sam's face.

"Is she nice?" He asked quietly.

"Wha - um, yeah, I guess. I don't see her much."

Sam turned away from me, so I couldn't see his expression. He walked away, and I quickly followed.

"Where are we going?"

"The training room."

"Oh. Fun."

I had a feeling that "training" was going to be anything but fun.

* * *

**I hate to say this, but this'll be the last chapter that I upload for a while. I need to finish my other stories before I continue this one, or I'll drive myself insane. Sorry to everyone who was reading this; you'll need to find a better fanfic. There's definitely other ones out there.**

**-RoR**


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